


the cost in her blood

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [93]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), F/F, F/M, Fan Offspring, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: Terezi's plans for revenge start to come to fruition, but only time will tell if she's prepared for the high cost that they may endure. 
Takes place after 'and everything was perfect'





	1. waiting on her

**== >Be Terezi in May **

It is May again but you don’t care. Last year you were graduating from completing mandatory education. Now you’re enduring the monotony of office work, snooping around DynamiCHEM’s other outlets, and buttering up to the carapaces who are higher on BF&W’s food chain. 

At least it keeps you from thinking about Vriska. She is yet to send you a message…probably because you were so needy and desperate for her not to leave. You still have no idea why you behaved that way. You don’t even have the excuse of being in heat and in the presence of another attractive troll. It’s monstrously embarrassing to think about. So embarrassing that you haven’t told anyone. Not Kankri, Sollux, and _definitely not_ Karkat. It would only make things more complicated.

You divide your attention between work and your family. Kankri’s career has a fire lit under it from writing some choice articles about the city’s tumultuous political process. With the mayoral election next year, he’s covering everything he can. Though that means he spends less time at home and more at the city council and other important meetings. The upside is that you get to spend more time with Kempie, picking him up from whoever’s trailer he’s at for the day.

Today, you’re picking him up from your parent’s.

Driving through your neighborhood is a chore. For one thing, it’s cluttered with children who still have no idea about the rules of the road or how deadly a car would be to their small bodies. Not helping this is the so far pleasant May weather, that everyone is taking strides to enjoy before stormy June and July. Storm season and with that comes anxiety about flooding and mud and destroyed living rooms because kits don’t have a concept of not changing their shoes before coming into the house. Even Kempie forgets, tracking mud in the living room and kitchen and almost into his bedroom before Kankri or you catch him.

But other than that, he’s a sweet boy.

You step out of the car and look at the disaster zone that is your old home. The front lawn is a war-zone of toys, holes, and dying grass. The previous two isn’t your brother’s fault as he’s done his best to maintain the trailer but it’s near impossible with two rambunctious kits (sometimes three). The doorway opens and Suxxor runs out, being chased by Eridan.

“Suxxor, get back here and apologize to your brother!” Eridan yells.

Suxxor has already run to the other side of the street. “He started it and he suuuuucks!” the yellowblood boy yells from his safe zone. 

“I do not!” Dmitry walks onto the porch with tears running down his face.

“Suxxor, I’m counting to three!” Eridan says, “One...”

Suxxor sticks out his tongue and takes off down the road. Eridan curses and chases after him. You approach Dmitry, who is sniffing. He looks like a young Dualscar, except with a fuchsia streak running through his hair. You think his grandfather would be proud to know that his bloodline had finally managed to climb so high.

“What happened?” you ask.

“Suxxor flushed my magazine down the toilet!” Dmitry says.

“Oh...” You say and struggle not to laugh at the image. “Why’d he do that?”

“He said that he had a magazine of seatroll celebrities and that he had to show me but it was in the bathroom,” Dmitry says between sniffles, “and then he flushed it down the _toilet_!”

“He made a huge mess too.” Kempie exits the kitchen wearing an apron dusted with flour.

You would think so. Magazines weren’t made to be flushed.

“He’s mean and I hate him!” Dmitry huffs.

“You can borrow my magazines.” Kempie offers.

“I don’t want your stupid cooking stuff!” Dmitry stomps back into the trailer and goes to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Kempie shrugs and smiles at you. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, sweetie!” You pick up your son and hug him. It’s hard to imagine such a sweet kid like him could be related to Karkat, who would often refuse to be picked up by anyone when he was that age.

You walk inside the trailer and see your mother lying on the couch. She’s wrapped up in a blanket, shuddering from the chills even though it’s humid outside. The nanite treatment may have helped with the cadmium poisoning but she’ll suffer through the drawbacks for the next decade. It could be worse though: it could be the _older_ alternative that humans used.

“He’s a real sweetheart, Terezi.” Latula says.

You sit next to your mother. “Tough day?”

“It would’ve been worse without Kempie.” Your mother points to the lumpy chocolate cookies on the table next to her. You doubt they taste good but for a one year old, it’s a good attempt. “He’s  a better cook than Eridan. Mind if I borrow him for Gobblebeast Day?”

Kempie laughs. “Daddy wants me to help him cook but you can come, Grandma.”

“I’d love that Kempie.” Latula says, “Why don’t you go cheer up Dmitry? I’m sure he could use a friend.”

Kempie nods and climbs off your lap. He’s always eager to help out, a trait you think he gets primarily from you. Once your son is in the bedroom with the pouting fuchsia, you ask, “Where’s Sollux? Thinking of how to invent a time machine so he can stop himself from impregnating Eridan?”

Latula snickers. “I’m sure he’s thinking about it but right now he’s assessing the damage his son did. At worse Suxxor will have to clean and replace Dmitry’s magazine. I’m so glad Sollux and you are grown. You were such handfuls.”

You smirk. “Hey, I was _way_ easier to handle than him.”

Latula smiles. “Not actually. For one thing, you were a constant liar.” You scoff but your mother laughs, “You _really_ don’t remember?”

Aside from major events, you don’t recall most of your childhood. You prefer not to think about it because there were only a handful of important images before it all went black, replaced  by sensory gradients. Its hard to explain the… _hunger…_ you get for the old way of seeing.

“Terezi?” Your mother’s scent is rife with concern.

“I’m fine.” You couldn’t begin to tell your mother all the otughts are sloshing around your mind. That would require sifting through the muck in the first place.

You hear Eridan complaining in Old Alternian, chewing out his offspring for being a pain. You’re not entirely familiar with the language but you’ve heard your grandmother grumble and grouse enough times to know that _fausees_ means “idiot” and _folo mo_ means “child”. The front door swings open as Eridan enters the room, still yelling.

_“--ruzursaur on imnoles phiunos us phlaunsi curses zis nauso nemneaum kukosso moho, Suxxor!”_ Eridan yells.

“I was framed!” Suxxor yells over the sound of his mother growling, “This is all circumstantial evidence! I demand DNA testing! I want a lawyer!”

“No more court TV for you!” Eridan announced in English. _“So auzoau seau nin hic lici, es on phrilomau suphsomaunau sauphuru!”_

Eridan marches to Suxxor and Dmitry’s room, continued his tirade in Alternian. In the past, you may have been annoyed at the interruption, but these days there is always noise in the background. You’ve gotten used to the sound of screaming kids just as another sound in the trailer park that will blend in, along with the dogs barking and car horns.

Once the door slams shut, Latula speaks again. “I know you hate talking about your problems, but you should talk to your moirail.” she says.

“I don’t hate talking about my problems.”

“Oh _please,_ Terezi. You’re a person of action, not explaining. You think you’re a longtime planner, but you’re not. You remember that huge argument we had when you were in tenth grade?”

Tenth grade? Argument? You search your memory but nothing comes to mind.Your remaining memories of sophomore year are full of that year’s memes and infectious pop music.

“Enlighten me.” you grunt.

“You wanted to start working part time,” Latula says, “and I was against it because I wanted you to focus on school. We got into a _huge_ fight. It went on for weeks. We even stopped talking to each other.” She tilts her head. “You really don’t remember?”

You think harder and slowly, the memory starts creeping back. You recall the nights spent in tears, finally conceding to your mother’s wishes although bitter as wormwood. You hated your mother and glared poison at her after the delivery of every bill and rental fee. When the next financial hump came (and it always _did_ come without fail), you went for outright rebellion. You convinced Vriska to bike you from every local dive restaurant that would be willing to hire a teenage troll, just in the hopes of earning a little cash. Not much. Just enough to keep the lights on.

Turns out that no one wanted to hire a blind girl, even if it was to fry chicken and deliver pizza. You were so angry and disappointed that you wanted to break every window in the trailer. Instead, you were just young, enraged, and impotent about your living situation. Vriska took you to the old playground in your neighborhood. You smashed abandoned beer bottles and moped around in your misery. You spent that summer buried in RPGs and imaginary adventures rather than think about how your real economic situation.

Now that you think on it, it was rare occurrence when you actually listened to your mother. Your mother has never been a dictator though, letting you do as you want: partly because she was always working but also because you were a fairly intelligent kid. She was always hands off, even when you moved in with Kankri.

“Do you think I made a mistake? With Kankri, I mean.” You keep your voice low.

“So far, you’ve been fine...” Latula’s words trail off, leaving space for a question mark.

“Nothing’s happened.” you say, “but I don’t know if I did the right thing. I just…jumped into things.”

Latula nodded. “You were seventeen, Terezi. A year from adulthood. And…” Your mother sighs. “I made worse decisions when I was even younger than that. I know Kankri, perhaps a little too well. The only person he’s a danger to is himself and, from my perspective, he genuinely loves you.”

You don’t doubt Kankri’s love, but he has never felt affection. He’s identical to an abandoned puppy that’s starting to remember what it was like to be around loving people.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get Karkat?” Latula whispers.

“It’s not that bad.” You say quickly, “How was it having Astrid over?”

“Oh. Her.” Latula laughs nervously, “I honestly forgot about her. She’s so quiet.” You must look frightened because your mother adds, “Relax! She’s just in the backyard.”

You would be more concerned if Astrid was a more rambunctious kit like Suxxor and Khanie, but Astrid is obedient even when Kankri isn’t around. Originally you had suggested to leave Astrid home alone since most purplebloods like their space but Kankri insisted Astrid be socialized.

You step outside and Astrid is sitting in the dirt. The backyard fencing is already covered with the Ninth Ward’s breed of fast growing kudzu. You recall your mother considering fences unsightly landmarks of suburban living, but that was before the Cherubs…before people could walk straight into your home and try to murder your family. After that, fences started popping up all over the neighborhood--though to call them fences would be an understatement. _Barricades_ is more like it. 

Astrid is by the fence, next to the row of potted sweet potatoes. She’s fiddling with the vegetables, using a stick.

You approach her. “Astrid?” 

The kit glances at you but when goes back to poking at the leaves with a stick.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Astrid continues digging between the leaves. After a minute of concentration, she unearths a caterpillar whose furry body is covered with orange and black spines. You back away from the insect. Any Niner associates that creature with rashes and painful bites just from color alone.

Astrid keeps the caterpillar at a distance, balancing it on the stick. She brings it to a mound of fire ants and deposits the foul insect inside. The ants swarm over the caterpillar, quickly killing and deconstructing it.

“You’ve got a good eye.” You say.

Astrid blinks and scratches her hair. You question how much she understands; what Astrid considers reality and what is a figment created by her own addled brain.

“Let’s go.” You turn to go inside the trailer and Astrid follows along. “Kankri’s going to be home late so dinner is on us. Is there anything you want in particular?” Astrid shakes her head. “Alright then. We’ll see what Kempie makes.”

Just then Kempie comes into the room. He’s taking off the flour apron and his mouth is dusted with cookie crumbs. He’s a smart kit but he’s never been neat.

“Ready to head home?” you say.

Kempie nods, grinning. “Yeah!”

You say goodbye to your mother and leave the trailer. You don’t bother visiting Sollux since you haven’t been on friendly terms for a while now. It’s better just to wait until this latest attitude blows over. You’re just glad to return to your home with your children.

Kempie helps you prepare dinner. You don’t know where he gets the instincts to be so helpful but you’re thankful for it. Astrid, meanwhile, sits in the living room and watches a lengthy documentary about arctic wildlife. When you check on her, the purpleblood’s eyes are wide as the camera shows a sweeping shot of endless snow and migrating caribou.

Coldbloods typically don’t show interest in cold environments. Such places are especially hazardous to them. Even thirty minutes without proper preparation could kill a blueblood or colder from exposure alone. Hundreds of coldbloods die every year in the north from such a  biological condition.

“You like winter?” you ask.

Astrid doesn’t answer. Her eyes are on the screen, absorbed as the Young British narrator details the harsh lives of arctic animals. You leave the room to continue helping Kempie prepare dinner.

Dinner is vegetable risotto. Most of your meals are vegetarian nowadays in the hopes of avoiding the high sugar and sodium intrinsic to packaged meals. You’ve have mixed success with avoiding it due to Kankri’s week-on week-off pay scale and your pale not amounting to much when utilities chew away the bulk of it. At least you’ve gotten creative enough to transform ramen into almost nutritious meals.

Kankri arrives at eight and looks dead on his feet. You welcome him with a kiss, as does Kempie. Astrid is asleep in her closet but you know Kankri will visit her with a kiss, even when she’s asleep. Then Kankri spends the rest of his evening with Kempie and you, talking work but mostly showing a loving interest in his son.

It’s all you could ever wan and it recharges you. 

 

You need the loving energy because Saturday morning is a battleground. You get up early, wear your best suit, and head to the DynamiCHEM function at Wayward Vagabond Park in Upper Groveway. Groveway is a creepy part of New Jack, the historic district full of oblong buildings made of welded metal and the garden yards overflowing with vegetation. Every building has a placard outside, stating that in so-and-so year so-and-so person did something worthy to the historical society. You couldn’t be bothered. You find the entire place creepy.

Wayward Vagabond Park is the same: placards everything and statues of black carapaces and humans wearing old fashioned clothes. The park allegedly marks the area where humans first arrived in the East, encountering the black carapace colonies.

Maybe if you were Aradia or a carapace, you’d care  a bit more. For now, your attention is on DynamiCHEM’s PR department trying to smooth over years of treating people like shit. The function is dressed up like a picnic, with local vendors serving food and every 50% off ticket printed with “Fun DynamiCHEM Facts”. There are also rides for the kids, though they’re of the cheap carnival fair: unsafe roller-coasters, merry-go-rounds, and nothing securely bolted down. You ignore the distractions and move to the platform they’re erected.

One of the DynamiCHEM CEOs is speaking: a balding human in a costly suit. “We at DynamiCHEM are glad to celebrate the more than one hundred years of cooperation and mutual benefits between our company and your fair city. Let me take you back to the beginning. In the Seventh Age, a black carapace named Furtive Socialite noticed there was a demand for…”

What follows is an abridged and much more positive history of DynamiCHEM in New Jack. You’ve read over the company’s true history so many times that you can point out what the CEO leaves out: how DynamiCHEM was originally a carapace only company. How it took years for the company to start hiring other species in higher paying jobs.

You keep to the back of the announcement areas. You look at the vendors serving deep fried foods and meats, questioning if they’ve been treated with DynamiCHEM hormones and pesticides.

A human woman approaches you. She’s trying to behave casually but you know that she wants something. She has short hair and a sweet smile, but she’s too old to be a student and her smile tells you this isn’t a flirtation.

“How much do you think they spent on this marketing attempt at damage control?” she asks.

“Whatever it is, they can afford it.” You say. The woman chuckles but you add just as quickly, “If you want something, make it up front. I’m too busy to play games.”

“Ruiz Masaki.” The woman holds out her hand but you stare at it. You still have no idea who she is and what kind of position she could be offering. The woman immediately retracts the hand. “I’m a journalist at the Midway Sentinel.”

Now _that’s_ interesting. Why would a Midway journalist be interested what’s going on in New Jack? Yes, the cities are neighbors but Midway has it’s own set of news, whether its feral lusii attacks at the parks or the Midway-Dadlas meth trade.

You don’t pretend she has your interest though. You study the DynamiCHEM brochure/vendor coupon.

“I don’t know what you want with me.” you say.

“With you? Nothing.” Ruiz moves closer. “With Terezi Pyrope, who happens to be asking a lot of questions at DynamiCHEM? Now that’s someone I should speak to.”

You narrow your eyes but let her lead you away from the announcement area. You go to a field intended for picnicking and sit at a plastic table. In the center is a bronze statue of the Four Queens. You’re sure it has some significance to carapace culture, but you’re not a carapace, so you don’t care.

When you sit at the table, Ruiz passes you a folder. You open it and find a newspaper clipping. A single sniff fills your nostrils with jargon relating to medical terminology and troll biology.

“This article was published Dr. Cedrica Lowe of Boxford Medical School,” Ruiz says, “It was published by, stating a certified link between the production of M&N batteries and cancer of the kidneys in trolls.”

You sniff at the article date . 2052. “This was published over fifty years ago.” You look at the woman. “So it was buried.”

“No one was concerned during the Fifth Age about batteries causing cancer in trolls; not when M&N was promising New Jack City industry after the post-Great War bubble burst. This was only published only in Boxford and Dr. Lowe made sure not to pursue this, unless she wanted to put her career in jeopardy.”

This article eliminates the angle that DynamiCHEM was unaware of cadmium causing cancer.

“If I could talk to the press about this, I would have already done so.” you say, “While this is helpful, I don’t know what I could do without jeopardizing myself.”

“Officially I’m here reporting on the mess WMS is in for the interest of a friend at Four Flags,” Ruiz continued, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on here.  This isn’t the first time DynamiCHEM’s landed in shit creek. The real question is how sturdy their paddle is going to be, which boils down to what you and me are going to.”

You have another question: why would Four Flags be interested in the WMS case? WMS is currently shut down and may never reopen with the investigation and bad press doing on. It takes a minute for it to hit you.

“Dockside.” You say.

Ruiz smiles. “Let’s just say they want a piece of New Jack’s tourist industry and they’re tired of all the competition in Midway with Disneyland and Crocker Studios.”

Dockside makes the most sense. It’s a large area that already has plenty of structures built up. Four Flags wouldn’t even have to sink in a lot of money to turn the property into a water park.

“Fascinating, but that’s down the line.” You say, “What do you specifically want from me?”

“I want you to speak to your boss for me.” Ruiz says, “I _know_ you’re involved in this DynamiCHEM business. I’ve spoken with some of the employees and the story of a blind tealblood with an annoying laugh keeps popping up. You can’t be working alone.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think you’re that stupid is why.” Ruiz stands, “Tell your boss that if they let the information drip my way, I’ll let them broker the Four Flags. This way, everyone goes home with a paycheck.”

“I’ll pass the message along but no promises.”

You doubt BF&W will turn down the idea though. They do love their money and so do you. You think Ruiz Masaki is going to be a few more beneficial friendship than anyone else in your life right now.

Ruiz leaves the area and you decide to return home. You’ve had enough of the picnic and all you want is to lay in bed and not move for a while.

When you get home, you climb into your bed and go to sleep. You yawn and curl up in your recuperacoon. You don’t know why you’re so exhausted but you can’t force yourself to stay awake. You look at your laptop but there’s still no message from Vriska. You can just hope that she’s alright hanging out with that asshole Sugar Mama of hers.

Not that you care. You don’t. You have other things to do.

You take nap but end up oversleeping. When you wake up, it’s close to midnight. You stumble through the darkness and into the kitchen. The post-it note on the fridge tells you that dinner needs to be reheated and that he loves you. You smile and reheat the pasta salad, watching late night reruns of old sitcoms.

Your heart almost skips a beat when you hear your iHusk chime from the bedroom. At this hour, it has to be Vriska. You abandon your food, rushing to the bedroom, and seizing the gadget. Your status is always set to invisible nowadays, so only Karkat and Vriska know to message you.

 

AT: wHAT IS YOUR DEAL?

 

Your heart sinks in your chest. You debate about ignoring the bronze text but something about it..irks you. Maybe it’s the late night or the interruption, but most likely its the gall of Tavros’s tone.

 

GC: N1C3 TO S33 YOU TOO

AT: fIGURES THAT YOU WOULD BE INVISIBLE INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY OFFLINE,

AT: sERIOUSLY, wHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? kARKAT NEEDS YOU AND YOU’RE NEVER AROUND, yOU’RE EITHER SLEEPING OR DOING WHATEVER WITH  YOUR JOB,

GC: 1’M BUSY 1T’S NOT MY F4ULT MY JOB 1S 1N 4N OFF1C3 4ND NOT 4 F4CTORY

AT: i WORK THIRD SHIFT AND STILL MAKE TIME FOR MY KIDS, pEOPLE HARDLY SEE YOU ANYMORE, tEREZI,

AT: jUST ADMIT THAT YOU’RE AVOIDING, kARKAT,

GC: 1’M NOT 4VO1D1NG H1M 1’M *BUSY* T4VROS 1T’S NOT R34LLY 4NY OF YOUR CONC3RN 1F YOU’R3 SO CONC3RN3D FOR K4RK4T WHY DON’T YOU STOP PR3T3ND1NG YOU’R3 NOT P4L3 FOR H1M?

AT: i’M NOT PALE FOR HIM, tEREZI, i’M CONCERNED FOR HIM BECAUSE I’M HIS FRIEND,YOU SHOULD BE THE FIRST PERSON TO REALIZE THAT,

 

Now you understand why Tavros was so annoyed by you prying into his personal life. The only difference is that you’re not in danger. Everything is perfectly fine and yet Nitram is giving you the second degree.

 

GC: F1N3 1’LL T4LK TO K4RK4T H4PPY?

AT: iT’S A START,

 

\--adiosToreador[AT] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!—

 

You’re not looking forward to meeting with Karkat. He’ll just dump his problem on you and expect you to solve them. You question why in the hell you wanted this relationship in the first place. Still, you wanted it. You have it. Now you have to deal with it. It’d be cowardly to just toss it aside after all that effort.

The next morning, you make sure to visit Karkat. You don’t bother with pale gifts because it’s short notice and you’re exhausted. Karkat seems surprised when he answers the door, staring at you.

“Hey.” You say.

“Hey.” Karkat then frowns, “Is everything okay? You need anything?”

His words sting you with guilt. You’d been so pissy about Tavros intruding into your quadrant that you hated the idea of dealing with Karkat. Now that you’ve finally shown up, his concern is immediately about you.

You force yourself to smile. “Only to see you.”

Karkat hugs you and his emotions are so loud and blatant to your nose. He’s missed you so badly—more than he’s willing to say…and you didn’t want to be bothered.

You devote the entire morning  to him. You sit in the bedroom he shares with Dave and Jade, letting him talk. Outside, you hear the loud laughter of children. Through the Venetian blinds you see Khanie and Torken running as Jake sprays them with a hose. Dirk is standing nearby with his eyes skyward, possibly wondering why his life is in this current state.

“A brownblood fairy-bull told me to get my ass in gear and watch out for my pale,” You say, “and…I think he was right.” Admitting that leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

Karkat smirks. “I’m surprised you didn’t just ignore him like we always do when Nitrams get hormonal.”

“You can’t ignore good advice. At least not for long.” You say, though your throat is dry saying it aloud.  “Things are slowing down the case. I’ll be doing other work for a while we pull data. I’m going to try to be around a bit more. I know Kempie misses having me around and Astrid is...” You pause, “Well, Astrid doesn’t give a shit but I know Kempie doesn’t like being alone with her.”

“ _I_ don’t like being alone with her.” Karkat says, “Are you sure about this, Terezi? Taking time off at a time like this? DynamiCHEM still might pull some shit. I really don’t mind...”

“Karkat, we both know you definitely mind and you’re too stupid to say otherwise.” You smile. “You should stop worry about everybody so much. I swear, you’re so concerned with everyone else.”

Karkat frowns but his charcoal black face receives a red tint. He’s embarrassed but also worried. You have a conversation that’s on the borderline of pale with how shallow it is. Karkat has his usual concerns about fatherhood and suspicions concerning Vriska: how she left in a hurry, how she hasn’t called her son to confirm her location or safety. It’s a concern you also harbor, albeit for different reasons.

Of course you could never tell _him_ that.

“Don’t worry about it, Karkat. Vriska’s a big girl. When she’s ready to tell you about something, she’ll say.” you lie.

You spend the rest of your barely pale session in his company. He’s missed you so badly and all you can do is pretend to have the same feelings. Karkat never notices though. He’s missed you so badly and you’re still able to give him the energy to deal with the rest of the week. Even when you’re coasting, he’s glad to be with you.

You still haven’t told Karkat about the situation at DynamiCHEM. You haven’t told _anyone_ because the situation is so delicate. You’re dancing on spider’s silk right now and it consumes your thoughts. Even after you leave Karkat’s trailer, you check your iHusk. You’ve been obsessively watching it since Vriska left.

Still no messages.

Not that you care. You go back home. You continue with your life. You try not to pay attention to the iHusk, though you do periodically check it. Just in case.

Vriska does contact you that night. You downplay your excitement and relief at seeing her familiar typequirk. She wouldn’t appreciate it anyways.


	2. a son in need

Your mind is arranged into plans of action in regards to the strategy Vriska and you have cooked up. The next step is securing a one-on-one meeting with Arthat. This is easier said than done because a child’s schedule belongs to that of everyone else but themself. You spend a week lurking in the group chat, figuring out whose kids are going where until you pick up information. You make Karkat an offer he’s not likely to refuse: sharing the burden of watching his demanding son by picking him up, socializing him with other kids (and his relatives by extension). As you planned, Karkat happily agrees.

“What’s Arthat like?” you ask Kankri. In the chaotic group chat, not much about the children’s personalities come up, unless it’s allergy or tantrum related.

“Stuck up.” Kankri says, “Distrustful. Intelligent. Independent. Views himself as an adult.” He smiles, “Reminds me of Mindfang’s noble demeanor around other coldbloods.”

It makes sense. Only your grandparents were raised by lusii. That has to foster a strong sense of independence in a troll.

On Monday, you’re anxious, though it’s not just meeting Arthat and putting the plan into motion that’s doing it. After sitting on Ruiz’s information and mulling it over, you inform Ms. Barrat that morning. Barrat said that it would be ‘handled’ and for you to return to your job. Given her closed off tone, that could mean a number of things but one detail is made clear to you: don’t interfere. You don’t fight her on it.

If Barrat needs you for anything, she’ll call you. You like your job but you’re not sticking your neck out when your boss might be holding an ax. Especially not for a journalist you just met.

Still, you’re glad to be out of the office at the end of the day. You leave work, pick up Kankri, and then head to Aranea’s. You try not to feel nervous as you knock at the door.

A blueblood kit answers it. He looks at you, supported in his upright position by forearm crutches. His skin is pale and the thick glasses on his face barely hide his discolored eyes, that show more red than yellow. His skin is also more pallid than a normal troll, but with his condition, that’s a minor complaint.

 

 

“Hey, Eukary!” you say, “Where’s your Mom?”

Eukary tilts his head as you talk, using his working left ear. “She’s in the garden, Ms. Pyrope.” He answers and walks back inside the house.

The inside of Aranea’s house has definitely become more cluttered over time. There are more pictures of Eukary and questionable decorations that you know are Horuss’s influence. Kankri stays close to you. For a troll who always says that everyone is equal, he becomes anxious in the presence of Eukary. Perhaps its an instinctual thing on his part, fighting the urge to cull obvious evidence of deficit genetics.

“How are you feeling today?” Kankri asks, forcing politeness.

“I’m fine. It could be a lot worse, Mr. Vantas.”Eukary slowly sits on the couch. He presses a button and the TV continues with Jill Dock the Science Croc explaining physics.

“There’s no need to be so polite.”  you say, “We’re practically family.”

“Shouldn’t that mean I should be more polite?” Eukary asks.

“He’s got you there.” Kankri chuckles.

You smile. “It’s always nice to see you, Eukary. Tell your Dad we said ‘hi’.”

“Yes, Ms. Pyrope.” Eukary says.

You exit into the garden where Aranea and Arthat are sitting under a vine and flower covered archway. The two are talking politely and enjoying the other’s company.

“Hello there.” Kankri says, “It seems that you two are enjoying yourself.”

Arthat looks at Kankri and frowns. “Je see that lazy man couldn’t be bothered to pick moi up from grand-mère.”

Oh. _This_ interaction is going to be charming.

“Actually, Karkat thought we should spend some time together.” you say, “I’m Terezi, Karkat’s moirail and Kankri’s matesprit.”

Arthat looks from you to Kankri like he’s trying to find meaning in an abstract painting. Then he looks at Aranea with a smirk. “Grand-mère, je thought that coon robbing was illegal in this state.”

Aranea laughs. “Not illegal, just frowned upon by humans. There was a considerable age gap between your grandparents on your mother’s side.”

“His father’s side as well.” Kankri adds, “Arthat, I thought  you would want to play with your cousins.”

“Non. Je doubt the little butterball does anything that would interest moi.” Arthat says, sounding offended by the very suggestion. He picks up Snippy and his bag. “ _But_ je look forward to any time not spent in Karkat’s hovel.” He nods to Aranea. “It was pleasant to see you, grand-mère,.”

“The same, Arthat.” Aranea says sweetly.

Aranea is a little too tolerant of Arthat’s attitude, but you doubt he gives the cerulean much mouth. Vriska had her rebellious streak, but she was always sneaky about it; doing her best to slip under the notice of Aranea. You doubt Horuss tolerates a lot of mouth either since his blueblood sons are polite to a fault and Tavros was just as sneaky as Vriska when it came to mischief.

Arthat isn’t disruptive on the way to your trailer though. He sits in the backseat, glaring at you via the rear view mirror. Judging your every action.

When you pull up to t he mess that is your old trailer, Suxxor is running out the door with Eridan hot on his heels.

“Get back here, Suxxor! You have to get ready for your grandma!” Eridan yells.

“She’s not my grandma!” Suxxor argues.

You step out the car, watching Suxxor bob and weave out of Eridan’s way. Eventually Suxxor ducks behind the car, glaring at his mother.

“What’s going on now?” you ask.

“Mom wants me to wear a stupid outfit!” Suxxor hisses.

“He’s spending the night with Meenah,” Eridan sighs, “and just once I would like him to wear the nice clothes I buy him.”

“They’re ugly!” Suxxor huffs. The kit may have continued his rant but he rounds the side of the car and looks into the window. He grins. “Oh! Hi, Arthat!”

Arthat looks at the other kit, as if encountering a rare animal. The ceruleanblood rolls down the window, looking at the other kit.

“Oh. Bonjour, Suxxor...” Arthat mumbles. “How are vous doing?”

“Fine.” Suxxor says. He’s too interested in what Arthat has to say to notice Eridan inching toward him. “We should hang out. We can play gin and poker since no one else will play with me.” 

“Um. Oui.” Arthat says.

“Got you!” Eridan seizes Suxxor, walking off with the kit before he can try and escape. “You’re wearing your new clothes and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Noooo!” Suxxor wails.

As Eridan and Suxxor enter the trailer, Kempie walks out with Astrid closely following. Kempie hugs you (of course) while Astrid climbs in the back seat. Arthat freezes at seeing the purpleblood kit.

“Qui is this…?” Arthat mumbles.

Astrid’s response is a stare.

“This is Astrid, my daughter.” Kankri says, “Astrid, this is your cousin Arthat.”

Astrid scrubs her eyes and looks away from Arthat. Kempie tries to start a conversation with the boy but Arthat barely commits, fumbling with whatever topic the small mutantblood brings up.

Once you’re at home, everyone goes to their usual task. Kempie and Kankri bond while working on dinner. Astrid retreats to her closet for private finger-painting. Kankri bought her the paints because he insisted she needed a good to ‘express herself’. You think Astrid just likes covering paper in odd animals and endless white, though Kankri is thrilled by _anything_ the girl draw.

Arthat is obviously out of place here. He finds refuge on the back porch, reading _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ with Snippy in his lap. You guess that Karkat mentioning Arthat’s intelligence wasn’t all paternal pride.

“Karkat told me you hate being outside.” You say.

“It would not be the premier time il was wrong.” Arthat turns a page in his book. “What do vous want? Don’t pretend that vous don’t want something from moi. Mère already told me that anything adults like vous want will never be done out of the kindness of vos hearts.”

At least you don’t have to concoct an elaborate lie for the kid to follow along with. You sit next to him and keep your voice low. There may not be spies lurking around any corner but there are plenty of nosy kits and equally nosy neighbors that could overhear something.

“I need to get into your penthouse.” you say.

“Vous want what is in Hecuba’s office, then?” Arthat says, not taking his eyes from the book.

“Do you know where the key is? Or how to unlock it?”

“Unlocking je do not know, but the key there are deux of.” Arthat said, “There is one that Hecuba keeps on elle key ring with elle other things… _mais_ there is a duplicate in elle private bedroom.”

“How do you know that?”

Arthat smiles. “Elle does not pay attention to children comme moi. Je notice small details Mere does not.”

A small detail that Vriska didn’t know and Arthat chose to keep to himself. He’s truly a Serket despite those nubby horns.

“What do you want?” you ask.

“Je want to be left alone.” Arthat says, “Je will do this for vous, et vous will bring me here et allow moi peace et quiet. Je cannot achieve that in the present of that peasant qui thinks himself mon père.”

It’s an easy demand. “Deal. We’re doing this as soon as possible.”

Your heart is pounding and you don’t know why. Are you hesitating? What for? You’ve been so sure of your plan before but this is setting you on edge. There’s little that could go wrong though. Arthat knows where the duplicate key is and you have a way to get into the penthouse.

To take your racing mind off the situation, you focus on Arthat’s interactions with others. Arthat still displays no interest in Kempie or any of the shows made for children his age. Like Kankri, he would rather watch the news and discuss the daily events. If anything, Arthat prefers to talk to Kankri.

“The current political climate is finally allowing for a shift.” Kankri says, “I guess we could thank that whole mess with the Cherubs last year for allowing some more liberal policies to come forth.”

“Just because liberal policies are surfacing does not make them permanent.” Arthat answers, “The current mayor is considered liberal but elle has many conservative colleagues. New candidates can’t stray far to the left without hurting leur wallet.”

“Ah, but that’s what lobbyists are for…”

It’s immensely boring listening to them both. You let Kankri and his grandson talk politics and the city’s upcoming election while you sit on the couch with Kempie in your lap. Kempie hardly moves when you hold him. You cuddle your sleepy son while Astrid watches a documentary about arctic nature preserves.

When Karkat is at the door, he smells like alcohol and fried food.

“Long day?” you ask.

“Fucking _graduates_.” Karkat grunts, “I hate this time of year and now the frat kids from NJU decide to come our way because we’re the only bar that _hasn’t_ banned them. You have no idea how many drinks I mixed. Do you know what a Home Sweet Screwdriver is? Because I sure as hell know what’s it made of! Who the hell even named that?”

“People who just became able to legally drink.” You call out ot the kitchen where Kankri and Arthat are still talking. “Arthat, your father’s here.”

“Vous mean _Karkat_ is here.” Arthat growls. The surly kit walks out of the kitchen with Snippy tucked under his arms. 

“Nice to see you too, son.” Karkat snorts.

“Je cannot say that same thing for vous.” Arthat grunts.

Karkat rolls his eyes and looks at you. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all!” Kankri says, leaving the kitchen. “We’d love to have him over again. Arthat is quite the little gentleman.”

“Great. Feel free to steal this brat anytime.” Karkat sounds relieved he won’t have to constantly put up with Arthat’s attitude.

“Sure.” you say.

Even as they leave, your stomach is still in a knot. You still have no idea if you’re doing the right thing, but you have little alternative. You’re in too deep now to just turn away like a coward.

 

Weeks during the summer move at a snail’s pace. There used to be an old Eastern saying the true hillbillies and redneck would say during the Fifth Age: “Eastern summers slow as black-strap molasses. Western summers quick as sugar.” Or you think that’s how it goes. You’re not rural enough to really remember the full phrase.

Still, very little happens. Nessie almost loses a tooth after running into a door but comes away with a bruised ego instead. Khanie scrapes another knee. Dmitry’s attempt to revenge-prank Suxxor backfires and results in a small fire in Meenah’s kitchen. You either sleep too long or too little to take active notice of what goes on in the lives of children. It’s easier to talk to Karkat online due to exhaustion.  

 

CG: HE FINISHED THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME AND NOW HE’S DEMANDING I TAKE HIM ALL THE WAY TO BARNES AND NOBLES. WHAT’S THE POINT IN BUYING HIM SOMETHING WHEN HE READS THROUGH THINGS SO QUICKLY? WHY CAN’T HE JUST USE THE LIBRARY? I’M NOT MADE OF MONEY!

GC: 1S TH3R3 3V3N 4 L1BR4RY N34R WH3R3 4RTH4T L1V3S?

CG: …HUH.

CG: NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, I DON’T THINK THERE IS. I DON’T KNOW EVEN HOW OFTEN ARTHAT LEAVES THE HOUSE. ER, PENTHOUSE.

CG: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN TAKE HIM TO THE LIBRARY THOUGH. THEY’RE USUALLY CLOSED BY THE TIME I GET OFF OF WORK AND I’D RATHER NOT HAVE HIM RIDE THE BUS ALONE. DAVE AND JADE ARE BOTH WORKING TOO.

GC: K4RK4T

GC: WH3R3 DO3S K4NKR1 WORK…?

CG: THE LIBRARY. WELL, PART-TIME AT LEAST.

CG: OH. OHHHH.

GC: TH4T TOOK YOU 4 WH1L3

CG: HEY, I HAD A LONG DAY AND NOW A TINY HUMAN AND A HUGE CRAB-DOG THINK I’M THEIR PERSONAL COUCH.

GC: W3LL YOU 4R3 B1G SOFT 4ND COMFORT4BL3 L1K3 ON3

CG: OH, DON'T *YOU* START. I HEAR ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOUR BROTHER AS IS.

CG: WOULD KANKRI BE ALRIGHT TAKING ARTHAT TO THE LIBRARY TO GET HIS CARD? I THINK ARTHAT LIKES HIM THE MOST OUT OF EVERYONE HE HAS TO DEAL WITH.

CG: …MAYBE.  

GC: 1 TH1NK K4NKR1 W1LL LOV3 1T W3’LL M4K3 4 D4Y OF 1T

 

It’s also an opportunity you can’t ignore. You can bring Arthat to the penthouse afterward and get the files. The weekend would be a time of high traffic in the penthouse area, which would make security only tighter.

 

CG: GREAT! I’M SURE ARTHAT IS EXCITED.

 

You seriously doubt that.

 

GC: SOUNDS L1K3 FUN


	3. a day with your grandson

**== >Terezi: Be Kankri for a day **

You can’t blame Karkat for dumping Arthat on you. The ceruleanblood kit would be difficult for even an experienced parent to deal with and their divergent interests don’t make interaction any easier between them. You’re glad to have a child that displays similar interests to you, though. Astrid and Kempie are sweet but their interests are highly limited due to their age.

Arthat…is a different story though and that’s a bit more interesting to deal with.

Terezi has the car for the day so Arthat and you are dropped off in the front of the library. Arthat stays close, nervously glancing at the people walking and the constant city traffic. He keeps Snippy tucked close to his chest.

“Now, do you have a library card?” you ask.

“Non…” Arthat mumbles, “Je have plenty of books at home. Je do not need one.”

“Maybe not at home but here you definitely do.” you say, “A card here will work for all the libraries in the region. You can even use the website to order specific books and have them sent to the closest library near you.”

Arthat’s eyes widen a bit. “Really?”

 You try not to snicker about Arthat marveling at something he didn’t know.

You go into the library and take Arthat to the desk at the children’s section of the library. You introduce him to the librarian. You leave him to let the librarian show him around.

You punch in to your job. Your library job is very easy going. Most of your colleagues are over the age of fifty and have been working at the library since their twenties. You fit in with their easy going nature though. Drinking tea, talking about your grandchildren, nibbling on shortbread cookies, and whose going to oversee which functions in the community room.

Today you’re overseeing a meeting in the community room about the importance of New Jack’s local environment, or that’s what it says on the poster. In reality, it’s a thinly disguised attempt by Green Gene supporters to convince the public to be against the development in the Ninth Ward and outlying areas. You don’t do much aside from making sure things stay civil and no one stains the carpet up with cheap juice and soda. Fortunately for the land developers, no one is interested in the environmental discussion outside of the usual group of library homeless. You can’t really blame them. Food is food after all.

At lunch, you go to the children’s section but Arthat isn’t there. You’re not very surprised since you doubted Arthat would stay in one place. You go upstairs to the adult book sections, finding the ceruleanblood kit amongst the European history books. Arthat sits at a table that dwarfs his size, in an equally large chair. His feet don’t even reach the ground.

“Arthat, I know you’re not used to being here but you have to _tell_ people when you leave certain areas.” you say, “It’s easy to lose track of someone in the library.”

“You found me.” Arthat says.

“Yes, but that’s because I know this library very well.” you say, “It’s not much trouble to come by where I am. I told you I’m always at the front desk.”

Arthat frowns. “You were working...”

“Even if I’m working, all it takes is a few seconds. I always make time for family.”

Arthat gives a quizzical look, like what you’ve just told him is a trick. After a minute of skepticism, the ceruleanblood kit nods and climbs off the chair.

“Fine…” Arthat grumbles. He still looks unsure about the entire situation. "What do you want?"

"I thought we could get lunch, since you didn’t pack one." you say.

Arthat looks away, as if he's unfamiliar with the very idea. Still, he doesn't protest and follows you out the library. You walk across the street, heading to the row of buildings that make up the rest of downtown. Arthat hugs Snippy tightly and stays close to your side. He doesn't hold your hand--he's a bit too proud for that--but the look on Arthat's face tell you he's close.

You try to keep the mood light.

"You have to love summer tourism." you chuckle, "I bet all these people are headed for the Strip after hitting the restaurants around here. Not much else to do."

Arthat doesn't comment. His eyes are darting around, keeping track of all the people around him. You decided to take him to Knight's before the scenery makes him more uncomfortable. You even make sure not to go at your usual hurried pace

Knight's is a cozy little restaurant that could easily be ignored if someone isn't familiar with the downtown area. Years ago it had been a rundown bookstore until the original owner left, remaking it into a restaurant. The menu isn't incredibly extensive but what they serve is of high quality and the waitresses are always friendly. You take a seat in the back amongst the paintings of skulls and serpents, adding to the restaurant's historic ambiance. The waitress hands you two menus, keeping with the bookstore's motif.

“You can have what you like on the menu.” you tell Arthat.

Arthat squirms in his chair, looking completely out of his element still. He barely glances at the menu before mumble, "Je will just have vegetable soup."

"There's other vegetarian options on the menu." you say.

"Je am not vegetarian." Arthat mumbles, "Je don't want to turn into a balloon like everyone else."

You frown. "Who told you that?"

Arthat sinks in his chair and doesn't answer. Looking at his face, he's inherited Karkat's pout the same way Khanie has. You do your best not to peer to closely at children, trying your best not to make them deeply insecure about their appearances…but now you look at Arthat. How slack his clothes are on his body. The careful attention to his meals.

Who cooks for Arthat when Vriska isn't around? Is he the only one providing for himself? That can't be safe. You let Kempie cook to an extent but he's not allowed to handle appliances or sharp objects without supervision. You're concerned for your grandson, but you can't prod. Arthat is always on his guard. Push at any topics he's anxious about and he'll scurry away like a scared spider. You need to focus on common ground.

"So, did you find anything in the European history section?" you ask.

"The usual." Arthat says, "Je am not just interested in Europe. Je want to know all the history of the world. There are many gaps in the historical record et it troubles moi that no one else cares."

"The gaps of years are interesting, though it's not anyone's fault in particular." you answer, "Humanity spent so many years in space that things got lost and jumbled over time." You shrug. "I never really took much interest in it because it's human history."

"But what about trolls?" Arthat asks, "There is little written." 

"Ah…that's a bit harder."

You try not to think about it. Thinking about the history of your people…just makes you think of your father and all the unanswered questions. Of course you could talk to Aranea and Karkat about but these days…it's just not worthwhile.

"It's just the past, Arthat." you say quietly, "There's not much interesting there. You should focus on the future."

Arthat snorts, obviously disagreeing. You don't have the energy to argue with him.

You get your orders and eat mostly in silence and then promptly return to the library. You keep working and Arthat reads as much as he pleases. When your shift is finished, Arthat has taken out three books. You even get him a cloth bag to carry it in. You wait for Terezi on the bench between the library and the museum's science section. Arthat sits next to you, still looking out of place and watching the people stroll in and out of buildings.

“How can you stand not having a car?” Arthat finally asks.

You shrug. “I couldn't drive for a long time, so I got used to it. Plus, I like being picked up by someone that I love.”

Arthat frowns. “What does she _want_ from you?”

“Want?”

Arthat shrugs. “Mere wants Hecuba’s penthouse and money."

Ah. So _that_ has been troubling Arthat: not just the location but your entire relationship with Terezi. His experience with adult relationships are a direct exchange of materials. The age gap between you and your matesprit must be adding to his confusion.

“Our relationship is based on things you can’t see.” you say, “Terezi keeps me grounded and happy. I do my best to keep her happy.”

Arthat squints at you, questioning the veracity of what you've said.

"So what do vous want from moi?” Arthat asks.

"I don't want anything from you--"

“Don’t play stupid.” Arthat growls, “Everyone wants something from moi.  They want moi to make friends with Karkat or to call him 'père' or they want me to play with the trash children." He inhales, shakily. "Je don't belong here. Je should be with Mère. Not here. It's not…"

"Fair?" you suggest.

Arthat doesn't answer. He sinks further in his seat, anxiously stroking Snippy's back.

"I do think it's unfair she left you here," you continue, "but there's nothing we can do about it now. We just have to make the best of it."

Arthat looks at you. "Vous…agree with moi?"

"Why wouldn't I? What you said makes sense."

Arthat's look is still skeptical. He's still trying to figure out your angle but you're not going to ask him about his opinions further. Terezi pulls up in the car. When you get inside, sweat is running down her face. 

“Tough day?” you ask.

"Yeah, and the car's AC is on the fritz." Terezi sighs. She fiddles with a dashboard knob. "It was cool halfway here and then it just started blowing hot."

"I'm surprised it didn't happen before. This old girl's overdue for a tune-up." you say. You just hope it _only_ needs a tune up. There's no way you can afford a new car.

"Is it alright if I drop Kempie and you off at home? I was going to take Arthat to see Aranea."

"That's fine. Is there anything you want for dinner? Kempie is eager to use that Germanium cookbook I got him.”

 “As long as it’s not more sausage, I’m fine.”

You laugh. “You _know_ most of that cookbook is sausage, Terezi.”

Terezi groans and you laugh. She has taken great strides in being an overwhelmingly positive mother, encouraging Kempie's hobbies and his desire to help around the house. That also means she has to suffer with you when he wants to cook.

Arthat says nothing. He sits in the back, staring out the window.


	4. the investigation

**== >Kankri: Be Terezi after dropping off your son and matesprit**

Once Kankri and Kempie are at home, Arthat climbs into the front seat. He leaves Snippy in the back. He doesn't speak until you drive away from the trailer.

"We're not going to Grand-mère's house, are we?" Arthat asks.

You nod. “Do you have a problem with that?”

"Non." Arthat says, "Do vous know the way to my home?"

"Yeah." you say a little too quickly. Arthat smells strongly of suspicion and you don't need to be a genius to know its toward your relationship with his mother.

"What do you seek that is so important?"

"Files on DynamiCHEM.” There's no point in hiding what you know. Arthat and you are both in this together and you need complete trust on both sides. "I need to know if their specist policies were implemented in other businesses they owned. If so, we can sue not just M&N but the entire company. It'll help a lot of people they wronged."

Arthat smiles. "Ah, so it is revenge? Like _The Count of Monte Cristo."_

“It’s not revenge.” you insist, “I'm helping all the trolls DynamiCHEM fucked over."

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, Pyrope.”

You can hear Vriska's mockery in his voice. You don't say anything though. You can't let it shake you. Not tonight.

The drive into East New Jack is pleasant. You even roll down the window and inhale the smell of pine and the undercurrent  of marijuana on the wind. As you get closer to the penthouse, the sun starts to move behind the trees and the sky darkens. The sun is completely set when you get to the security booth.

The security guard is intensely focused on playing their cellphone game.

“Business?” he asks.

Arthat leans out of his seat so he’s visible to the guard.

"Je need something from moi suite." Arthat says.

The guard briefly looks up and nods. "Oh, yeah. You." He presses a button. "Go on ahead.”

The parking lot barrier lifts and you drive ahead. Arthat directs you to the guest parking lot.

"If vous park in a regular lot, vous could be towed for being in another's spot." he explained.

The idea of assigned parking strikes you as strange, but you guess that's how a penthouse keeps track of how many people are in a penthouse at a time. The guest parking lot is crowded with a variety of cars. They're not the luxury brands you're expecting; just a lot of brightly colored and solidly built recent models. You park the car closest to the pathway, just in case you have to leave in a hurry.

"Are this many cars usual?" you ask.

"Sometimes." Arthat says, "The college students must be having a party."

"Students can afford to live here?"

Arthat nods. "With their parents help, oui. The parents own the penthouse and go on vacation, leaving their children in charge. Summertime is the worst here."

It does sound like a nightmare and yet another reason to add to your list about why you hate apartments.

You get out of the car and then you rely on Arthat to lead you to Vriska's penthouse. You ride the elevator and exit onto the floor, staying close to the kit. It's obvious parties are occurring, though the noise is muffled behind well insulated doors. Still, you can make out music, smell spilled alcohol, the sizzling oil of pizza, and the twinge of vomit. It's almost overloading with how many different sensations are at play and easily concealed from everyone but you.

Arthat walks to a door. "Here."

You unlock the door and enter the penthouse. As soon as you enter, the smell of nothing hits you. Even after Arthat turns on the light, there's little input your working senses can provide. Everything in the penthouse is so muted and bland that it may as well be a showroom in a furniture store. There is typical modern furniture and the usual appliances. Nothing stands out or shows any personality. There are no pictures of loved ones on the wall, no affectations from the past, or anything homemade or heirlooms.

“If you are done gawking, we have work to do.” Arthat says, placing Snippy on the ground. The lusus scuttles to its perch in the corner of the room and settles down.

"Where's the bedroom?" you ask.

"This way." Arthat walks to a door and you follow him.

In this room, perfume is the first thing to hit your nose. It's so strong that it feels like a slap in the face compared to the rest of the home. The bedroom's flavor reminds you immediately of Hecuba: well-aged and classy with antique furniture.

There is a polished dark brown vanity in the corner with curved legs and a mirror. There are holders for her jewelry and makeup shaped like dragons, which make you a little envious. Arthat opens a drawer in the vanity and between compacts of foundation and multiple hues of lipsticks, he pulls out a key.

"Found it." he says and leaves the bedroom.

You're glad to leave Hecuba's little love nest. You follow him, asking, "What made you think it was in the vanity?"

"Hecuba spends a lot of time in there. There are plenty of secrets, I'm sure." Arthat says, "Je am only interested in this one."

Arthat moves into the back of the penthouse. The door to the study is hidden away, behind an alcove easily hidden from a casual visitor. Arthat unlocks the door and you follow him inside. The room has Hecuba’s special touches: the strong perfume, the dark woods, the antique furniture, and the smell of paper everywhere. The walls are covered with cabinets organized by letter. The desk has been cleared since Hecuba is on vacation with Vriska. The only thing on it is the Tiffany lamp and a business phone.

"Look at the cabinet walls under 'D'." you say. You open the desk, but some of them are locked. You don't trouble yourself with them though.

Hecuba is a lawyer, so she would need things quickly. Things that are under lock and key are important, but nothing you can get to quickly. The paperwork you're looking for would have to be moved around at the drop of a hat.

Still…what could be inside them?

"There are just people names." Arthat says, still at the cabinet. "Are you sure this isn't on a computer?"

You hope not because you're not your brother.

"There has to be physical along with digital copies." You move over to Arthat and start searching through the 'D' cabinet.

As it turns out the 'D' cabinet is huge, taking up two sections. Arthat takes one area and you take the other. There are folders both thick and thin of just research materials: satellite images of Ninth Ward swamps, highlighted documents about overseas trade, and photocopies of faded objects in the hazy night sky with certain figures circled in pen. Interesting but not pertaining to your situation.

"I think I found it." Arthat says.

You look at the cerulean kit, but your heart sinks when you see the DynamiCHEM folder he’s holding. It's fucking huge--at least a thousand pages of documentation, other folders, and gods know what else. This is like you spent a week ignoring your job and then did everything at the last minute.

"Looks like we got out work cut out for us." you say, "Alright. Let's look at it."

Arthat's eyes widen. "All of it?"

You nod. "As much as we can."

You both sit on the floor and spread out the papers with your bag nearby. The folder contains fifty years of paperwork at least, referencing different cases. The mess tells you that if Hecuba had an assistant, they never lasted long.

“This is going to take all night!” Arthat groans, “Je can’t even read most of this. It’s like chicken scratch.”

"Unfortunately, we don't have all night." The time on your phone reads that it’s five minutes to seven. You told Aranea that you were taking Arthat to the mall to get a book and Karkat that Arthat was going to Aranea’s, but that lie’s only going to hold water if you don’t keep him out long. “We have until eight.”

There's a noise next door: the sound of something expensive breaking and ecstatic shouting. The party’s getting out of hand, to the point where there’s no illusion about the involvement of drugs and alcohol. You’re glad you don’t have to deal with teenagers for a decade or so.

"Quelle exactly are nous looking for?" Arthat asks.

“Memos, emails, meeting transcripts...” You sniff rapidly, uncovering memos mentioning employee policies but no transcripts identifying those official policies.

Arthat looks through a blue folder. “This one has emails.” He looks over a paper inside, “The subject line is _Regarding the employment policies at_ \--”

A door creaks. A noise so loud that it sends ripples through the apartment.

The front door is open.

Arthat goes still and quiet, like any prey sensing danger. You move carefully, keeping alert of every sound and smell around you—translating into a rainbow hue before your useless eyes. As you move, you see the ripples of the intruder’s footsteps. They’re not huge but there’s tension behind those jittery movement.

Arthat is coloring the room carroty red with his fear. The taste is astringent, almost burningly offensive to your nose.  Still, he is not panicked. Not yet.

“Where are you?” the intruder mumbles.

You don’t recognize the voice. Snippy isn’t hissing so he must be an utter stranger. You squeeze out the gap in the doorway, pressing yourself against the alcove wall. You still can’t see the intruder but their smells and sounds vibrate around them, settling like rain around their shape. You pick up expensive cologne (fading) and nervous sweat (strong). He is also orange and red with fear, but it is tainted more red with his anger.

“Hey. Hey!” the intruder says, “Get the hell out here. I _know_ you’re in here.”

A gun clicks. You know from the sound that it’s not a fake. You’d be more than willing to lure him further into the penthouse, but the last thing you want is for him to discover Arthat. You keep your hands up and leave the alcove, stepping into the hallway.

“Okay. Just don’t shoot.” You say. You keep your breathing at a regular pace.

The intruder is a human man. He’s the same age as you and his hand is shaking, though he keeps a firm grip on the gun. His body is painted in shades of red and orange, so much that it’s hard to see his skin underneath.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demands.

“Tula. Trolus.” you say quickly. “Who are you?”

“Where’s that bitch?” The man aims the gun at your forehead, “Don’t fucking lie to me. I _saw_ you with that bitch.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. My eyes don’t work like yours.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You blind?” You nod. “Show me your proof then. I’m not an idiot.”

“You asked for it.” You move slowly, taking off your glasses.

 _“Fuck!”_ The man stumbles back. You had hoped the shock of seeing your eyes would cause him to drop the gun, but no such luck. The intruder takes a deep breath. “That why you’re here? Pumping the bitch's bitch for money?" He scoffs. “What a fucking world.”

“At least you can still see it.” You say, playing up the helpless troll aspect.

“I don’t give a shit!” The man lines up his shot again for your head. “Where’s Hecuba and the new bitch?”

 “I don’t know.” You keep your ears attuned for Arthat. You can’t hear him, but maybe the study is soundproofed. You turn your focus back to the intruder.  “I barely know Hecuba. I came here because my mother told me to.”

“Your...mother?”

“Hecuba knocked her up. I’m the result. She isn’t giving up the cash, so I came here to…” You shrug. “See what I could do.”

“You mean steal.” The intruder snickers. “I should just shoot you. Fucking hate people like you. Taking things that ain’t yours.” He inhales. “How come Hecuba never mentioned you, huh? Who are you _really?_ ”

You don’t know how but its already poking holes in your lie.

“Like I said--”

“You think I’m fucking _stupid_?” the intruder snarls, "Hecuba don’t have any kids your age! Especially not _blind_ ones. Who _are_ you?”

“I’m telling you the truth.” You need to think of a way to get the gun away from them and quickly.

Footsteps are moving behind you and the smell of Arthat is approaching. You turn to tell him to get back, to warn him about the man with the gun. He doesn’t have the senses you do.

“What the hell?” the intruder asks.

Arthat ducks under your arm before you can stop him. He faces the intruder, looking him directly in the eye.

"I want you to drop the gun!" Arthat yells.

The intruder gags and his entire body shudders. His fingers spasm and finally loosen. The gun falls on the ground with a loud _thump._

"What in the--" the intruder gasps.

"I want you to go to sleep!" Arthat says.

The intruder trembles, struggling and throttling at the command. He gargles something, fighting against Arthat.

 _"Sleep!"_ Arthat repeats.

Arthat stumbles and holds his head, like he’s suddenly afflicted by a vicious migraine. The intruder falls on the ground, knees slamming into the floor. He’s twitching and throttling, struggling against the psionic strings trying to yank him into position. It’s horrifying, reminding you of when you glimpsed John’s seizures.

The intruder finally topples over. He’s still breathing, but he’s body’s gone limp and he’s eyes are wide open in paralyzed fear.

Arthat is trembling. Bright cerulean blood drips from his nose but he doesn’t even seem to notice it. He steps back, eyes wide and afraid.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Arthat shakes his head, wiping the blood off his face. His eyes are on the fallen man and the gun.  You think of the paperwork, the evidence, and DynamiCHEM…but instead your mothering instincts take hold and you pick up Arthat. You stroke his hair, holding onto him.

"It's okay." you breath, "I-it's going to be okay…"

It’s not going to be okay and Arthat is smart enough to know the truth. Things become even less okay when the door is lamed open and three officers point guns at you.

"NJPD!" the office yells.

You scream at the sight of the officers. You’re still huddled in the corner of the room. You’re so shocked by their appearance that you let go of Arthat. Arthat moves quickly, standing in the corner of the room.

“Hey, it’s alright. Hold on.” one officer says.

Another lowers his gun, looking at the fallen intruder and the gun. “Shit, look at this…”

“Thank…thank gods you’re here!” You force the words out of your lungs because it’s the only thing that will keep you upright and alert. Arthat moves away more, heading toward the alcove and away from the police.

“Mind telling us what happened?” the first officer says. The other two are looking the scene over, checking the intruder and getting the gun.

“The man…he had a gun and just…collapsed.” You wheeze, “I don’t know. It just…happened so quickly…”

"It's alright, ma'am." the officer says, "We're here to help."

The two officers try to wake up the crazy ex, but they’re in a daze—drooling on his shirt and barely coherent, like he’s come out of a twelve hour deep sleep. Still, they get him up on his feet and slap cuffs on him. You sit on the couch while the other officer takes notes, asking you questions about the ex. Arthat stays close to you, holding onto Snippy and avoiding eye contact with the officers.

“So what happened here?” the officer asks.

You glance at Arthat. “This is his mother’s penthouse. I’m watching him while his mother is working overseas.” You don’t have to pretend to emulate the fear and uncertainty in your voice. “He forgot a book so we came here to get it. That man…he was waiting for us, I think. He just burst in here, waving a gun…demanding to know where Vriska–that’s his mother--was.”

“Have you ever met this man before?” the officer asks.

“No…at least, I don't _think_ so." you say, “If he’s followed me before, I wouldn’t know. I can’t see--”

“…oui.” Arthat’s voice is small and soft, like any kit learning to speak. “Je have seen him. He has followed Mère and moi. The security here…they know about him. He is not to be on premises…”

The cops nods. “I see.” He looks at the other officers pull the intruder to his feet. He’s in a daze but not too dazed to walk around. “We’ve gotten some phone calls about a stranger hanging around this property and this fella matches the description.” He looks at you, “Just to be on the safe side, we better take you to the station. Fill out some paperwork so this fool doesn’t come by bothering you folks again.”

Your stomach clenches in fear. Almost getting shot was bad enough but now there’s going to be a police record of you being in Hecuba’s penthouse when no one else was supposed to. However, you can’t make too large of a protest without raising the police suspicions about where you’re supposed to be.

“Are you sure? It’s late and we should be getting back home.” you weakly protest, “And our car’s in the guest lot…”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you won’t get ticketed for staying a bit long.” The officer says with a smile. “We’ll give you a ride in the car too, so you won’t have to worry about fuel.”

There’s no easy way to worm your way out of this then. This officer must be a bit more determined than usual to get all the paperwork in place so the crazy ex can be jailed or sent to a mental hospital at the least.

“Alright…” you concede.

“Wait.” Arthat speaks up, “Let me get my bag.” He looks at you, eyes wide and falsely innocent. “We came all the way here for it.”

“Yes. Please.” You say, looking at the officer, “Let’s make sure everything is fine so his mother doesn’t kill me for messing things up.”

“Tidying up isn’t really something that should be done. If there’s an investigation, we should leave it be.” The officer says. He looks at Arthat, rubbing his chin. “You should get your bag though.”

“Thank you…” Arthat says.

Arthat goes to the study and the other officers leave him alone. They’re occupied asking you details about the man, when he first arrived, and what state he was in. You can only answer vaguely because you’re not sure. As you’re talking, you think only of Vriska and how she didn’t tell you a single thing about this man or the danger he possessed.

Arthat leaves the study, holding your bag. It’s bulging more than usual but you don’t comment on it. Your thoughts are no longer on your personal conflict with DynamiCHEM but what will happen next. This stays in your mind as the officers drive Arthat and you.

The police station is newer than the one in downtown New Jack. The officers are all human and incredibly polite to the skittish troll and the child she’s currently in charge of. Maybe they don’t want to intimidate you too much, making their PR any worse than it could be in a college town where people feel more of an urgency to be safe. The hours chip away, filling out tedious paperwork and giving testimony. You ignore your phone, which constantly vibrates with unread messages and missed calls. You can’t go into details about what happened without raising a lot of other questions.

“Is it alright if I call my matesprit?” you ask the officer in the middle of filling out paperwork. The clock is getting close to ten.

The officer nods. “Sure. You’re not under arrest, ma’am. We just want to know what happened.”

The Niner in you still doesn’t trust him. The amount of paperwork you have to do seems unusual. They’re not putting you under arrest but they’re treating you with a healthy level of suspicion. You’re just glad they don’t immediately suspect Arthat of unlawful psionic use.

You leave the closed off room and enter the front hall. The officer manning the front desk glances at you but doesn’t say a word as you dial home. You ignore the squirming in your stomach as you wait for Kankri to pick up.  

//“Hello?”// The voice that picks up is small and sleepy.

“Kempie? What are you doing up?” you ask.

//“I dunno.”// Kempie mutters.

“Where’s Daddy?”

//”Um…”// There are small footsteps. //”He’s in the bathroom.”//

“Okay, can you tell him--”

Kempie starts banging on the door. //”Daddy! Mommy is on the phone!”//

You should have known Kempie wouldn’t understand the concept of just taking a message. There’s a lot of back and forth between Kempie and Kankri before the phone gets surrendered. The door shuts and the sound of rushing water stops.

//“Terezi, where the hell are you?”// Kankri whispers. //"Do you have any idea what time it is?"//

“Ten…ish.” You guess, "I know it's late. I just…" You can’t think of an excuse and you don’t want to lie to your matesprit. You also can’t say too much without incriminating yourself. “Things have been crazy. I’ll explain when I get home.”

//“Terezi, what’s wrong?”// Kankri’s voice moves from annoyed to concerned. //”Where are you? I don’t recognize the number.”//

“I’m at the police station.” you admit, “I’m coming home soon. I’ll explain then. I just…”

At that moment, everything crashes on you: the danger, the tension of being discovered, and the coming so close to getting the information only be thwarted by a third party. All you have to show for it is another addition to your nightmares in the form of another person waving a gun in your face. You blink back tears and don’t know if they’re related to terror or frustration. 

Kankri sighs. //”Fine. Just come home. I’ll tell Karkat that Arthat will be along shortly.”//

“Thank you.” you sigh.

You return to the dimly lit room to finish filing the reports. You’re relieved that the police have already called a taxi for you that takes you back to the penthouse. The security guard gives you a once over but says nothing, looking rather sheepish that something like this happened on their watch. You get back in the car. Arthat is next to you, breathing slowly and not saying much. You inhale and rub your eyes. Without a word, you start the car and leave the parking lot.

The highway on the way back to the Ninth Ward seems to stretch forever. There are few lights out and even fewer cars. It’s as if a bomb went out and only Arthat and you survived. Sounds are muted and even the radio is muffled by the loud howl of the wind rushing over the car.

“Well, that’s it.” You say, to break the silence. “We tried. I tried.” You swallow, “I blew it.”

“It’s unbecoming of vous who’s come this far to give up so quickly.” Arthat says.

“What are you talking about?”

Arthat looks to the highway side. “Vous may want to pull over for this.”

You do pull over because you’re in no rush to get anywhere. Arthat turns on the car light and pulls your bag out of the back seat. He opens it and pulls out a folder full of messily arranged papers. You open the folder and by the dim light inside the car, you see memos and email sent between names you recognize as past CEOs and high level managers.

“When did you…?” you ask.

“Je had found something right before that idiot came in.” Arthat says, “While he was blathering, je kept looking. Je did not know which was which, so I took what I could in the folder je found. Trolls are mentioned but je don’t know to what end…”

You swallow. This could be it or a fluke: either dumb luck or a accident mistaken as a good sign. It could be the information you need to turn the tide: for you to get the money, for DynamiCHEM to finally pay what it did not to your family but all the other trolls, and how to make things balance out correctly.

It means so much but you have only one concern.

“Is that why you waited?” you asked, “You almost let me get shot…while you were looking?”

“Isn’t the papers important?” Arthat says with a nervous swallow, “And…je did not know what je could do. Je am not strong. Je am not quick.” He looks away. “Je did what I could and even then…”

You exhale. You can’t be too angry at him. He’s only a year old. He doesn’t know how to deal with an angry man holding a gun. You’re the idiot that got him into this mess in the first place.

“Thank you.” You say, “Without you…this helps. A lot.”

You return to driving. The highway is still long and empty. Arthat is silent, looking out the window and watching the trees steadily disappear as you approach the city. You have a hundred questions about the strength of his psionics and if he knew it would work. You wonder if the police is heavily questioning the man, wondering what mental state he’s in and if they’ll do the full sweep: check him over for signs of psionic tampering in his brain.

“Karkat’s not going to happy about this.” You sigh, “I can’t blame him for this…you shouldn’t have to deal with this things like this.” Your shoulders feel heavy, like a hundred pound weight is settling on them. “I’m such an idiot…you could have been hurt.”

“Je am not made of glass.” Arthat growls, “Je was not forced to come. Je came here because je was bored.”

“Bored?”

“Oui. Karkat is boring et so is his dirt hovel home. Je wanted something to do et mother provided something that was not boring. Vous are on a crusade, like The Count of Monte Cristo.”

Arthat smiles and its is both angelic and terrifying.

“Je wanted to see the end of vous story.” Arthat answers.  

You don’t know how to answer him. Your skin feels like it could be crawling but that’s too gentle of a word. It’s beyond crawling and now it’s onto something else entirely different. There’s no proper word for it so you move onto another topic.

“The man who almost shot me…where did you see him before?” you ask. Your voice is no louder than a whisper.

“Oui. He approached mother and Hecuba in the streets. Mère would not tell me who he was but je know he was involved with Hecuba the same way Mère is now.” He frowns. “Humans. They are either confusing or crazy. I don’t understand why Karkat puts up with them.”

You don’t understand either, but you’re not one to criticize how people go about relationships. You can’t develop your own unless you obsess or think you’re getting an equal balance out of them. You still don’t know what quadrant you’re in with Vriska, or how you truly feel about her. Your thoughts float back to Karkat. How upset will he be? You doubt it’ll be _too_ intimidating. Karkat is so easygoing through that you doubt it can’t be anything too dangerous.

“It’s his way.” you whisper, mind halfway on the conversation while consumed by everything else.

You return to the neighborhood at ten o’ clock. The neighborhood is dark and quiet with all the children in bed by eight and the parents either asleep or at work. The only homes that are still lit up are yours and SHEV. You can make out Karkat’s large shadow on the porch of SHEV, leaning on the banister and looking out. The front door is opened, covered by a screen and adding more light onto the paved street.

You inhale. You’re not looking forward to this.

You pull up to the house in the road since the driveway is crowded with cars. You step out and Arthat gets out, leaving your bag behind. Arthat wastes no time and walks over to Karkat. His hands are in his pockets, defiant and not the least bit intimidated by his father.

Karkat steps off the porch. “Arthat! You’re alright!” His relief disappears quickly, replaced by annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“With votre moirail. Obviously.” Arthat says.

Karkat clenches his teeth and locks eyes with you.

“Go inside, Arthat.” His voice is hardly above a whisper.

Arthat glances at you and frowns. “Why should je? Je spent--”

 _“Now!”_ Karkat barks.

The voice is so loud and sudden that even you jump. Your instincts make you back away from the troll and you see a warping shift in the sounds and colors surrounding Karkat: a deep pulsing red of too many shades for you to count. The sight of it makes your stomach twist and you reconsider what you’ve done so far.

 

 

Arthat runs inside the trailer, shutting the door behind him. The streaking following him is blue, unsure and frightened.

 Karkat turns at you and his body is dark and the air around him is vibrating with barely suppressed rage. It’s almost oppressive, loud and throbbing.

“Karkat, I--” you begin.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Karkat asks. He’s not yelling. Anger strains through the quiet words, “First, you lie about where you were taking my son and now Kankri tells me you were calling from the police station? Just what the hell is going on?”

“I just…” You swallow, “I was working on something and Arthat was helping me. We were both working to get files on--”

“Let me guess: DynamiCHEM?” Karkat growls, “Is that all you care about now?”

“It’s important--”

“I’m fine with you ignoring me you can’t—no _, I won’t_ —let you drag my son into your revenge scheme!” Karkat says, “He’s only a year old! He should be watching TV or playing games! Not doing this kind of shit!”

“I didn’t drag him into anything! Vriska helped me!”

The words escape your lips before you can stop them. The pulsing red around him throbs, turning more vibrant. More blood like. Karkat’s eyes widen.

“What?” Karkat’s eyes narrow. “ _What?_ Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? How long has this been going on?”

You don’t have an answer because it would involve talking about everything, from the agreement between Vriska and you and the plotting.

“Answer me!” Karkat yells.

“I…” Your heart is pounding. You don’t know what to say, in the face of the anger and the look on his face. “I just…I fucked up, Karkat. Things were supposed to be simple and it spiraled out of control to. There was this nut with a--”

 _“I don’t fucking care!”_ Karkat snaps, “I fucking trusted you _with my son_ and you treat me like I’m nothing! Like…my feelings and opinions don’t matter to you _or her!_ How would you fucking feel if I took Kempie and used him like you used Arthat? I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut and has to look away. His eyes are wet but he’s too enraged to cry. “I’m such an idiot. All you two care about are yourselves.”

“That’s not true!” you say, “Karkat, please…please let me explain. It’s all over--”

“Don’t bother.” Karkat turns away. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of tolerating how Vriska and you treat me. I don’t deserve this. After everything…I just…”

He steps away. He’s not sniffling or upset. The rage is yet to cool.

“Just get out of my sight and stay away from my family.” Karkat concludes.

There’s nothing you can do. You don’t call his name because he’s right. You don’t deserve to beg for his forgiveness or ask anything about it. You walk across the street and find that the door is already open. Kankri is standing in the doorway. No doubt that he’s heard the whole thing.

“Terezi?” Kankri asks.

“I…” Your head is spinning. You’re still clutching the briefcase that has the papers that will damn DynamiCHEM. “I did it, but I...”

What does it matter though? Your pale quadrant has shattered apart all in one moment and you could barely make your case for it. Some lawyer you’ll turn out to be, if you should even still be a lawyers.

“I…fucked up.” You say.

Kankri nods. “Yes. You did.”

You can’t say anything for or against yourself. Your words are at a loss. You glance across the street but SHEV is dark and so is the rest of the neighborhood. Everyone is asleep with all their concerns buried for the next morning and day. You decide you should do the same for now. You walk into the trailer, smelling of your family and Kankri’s sympathy.


End file.
